by Jake Logan
“Carlos, start the men toward Polvo,” José ordered.
Slocum said to José, “I’ll meet you at the livery stable. About two hours from now, maybe sooner.”
“We will be there,” José said.
Slocum turned to Del.
“Let’s see if we can find those two jaspers who work the day shift out here.”
Del nodded.
“I know right where they live and we can get their horses, too, if we need them.”
“The more horses we have, the better,” Slocum said. “The soldier on horseback dominates the battlefield.”
“I believe it,” Del said.
Slocum waved to all the men as they started walking toward town. He heard the clicks of rifle mechanisms as they loaded their weapons. He heard José tell them to spread out and keep their eyes open.
“It looks like you got yourself an army, Slocum. Small, but they act like they’re ready to fight.”
“I just hope they’re ready to kill,” Slocum said.
No riders emerged from the town to challenge them as they cleared the outskirts. But the town was no longer asleep. Lamps burned in a number of windows and people were starting to mill around in the street. Many were streaming toward Tim Chandler’s gun shop.
On the last street, Del turned his horse and pointed to the house where the two guards lived.
“That’s it,” he said. “And it looks like they’re awake. See that lamp a-burnin’ in the winder?”
“I see it,” Slocum said.
That was not all he saw. There was a corral and lean-to shed out back. Shadows moved between the house and the shed. Two horses were already bridled and standing as the men threw on blankets, then lugged their saddles out to plunk on their horses’ backs.
“Uh-oh,” Del whispered. “I think they done spotted us.”
Slocum sized up the distance between him and the men in the corral. Too dark and too risky for a shot and the coral poles blocked some of his view.
There was nothing to do but ride up on the men and brace them before they finished cinching up.
Del drew his pistol and cocked it.
“Wait,” Slocum said. “Too far.”
“I just want to be plumb ready,” Del said in a low whisper.
Slocum did not draw his pistol. But he loosened his Winchester in its scabbard and kept Ferro at a steady walk toward the two men in the corral.
A cloud slid in front of the moon and the corral turned dark as pitch.
The two men and the horses might as well have been invisible. He could not see them. He looked up at the sky. The cloud was a large one and it was moving very slowly across the bright face of the moon.
The only sound he heard was the crunch of gravel under their horses’ hooves.
And he knew that if he could hear it, so could the two men saddling up in the corral.
This was the most dangerous time, he knew. He and Del were high and visible on their hoses. The men in the corral were in a well of shadow.
It was, he thought, no time to flinch.
25
As Slocum and Del rode closer to the house and the corral, one of the men called out.
“Who’s a-comin’? That you, Jube? Faron?”
“Maybe it’s Oren,” the other man said in a loud voice. “That you, Oren?”
“Sheriff?” the first man said, his voice turning into a liquid stream of uncertainty and perhaps fear.
The cloud slowly floated across the moon like a ghostly ship on a black ocean.
Slocum didn’t know their names, so he could not answer even if he disguised his voice. He didn’t want to know their names.
“It’s me, Colter, Del,” Del called out.
“What in hell you doin’ here, Del? Did you hear that explosion ’bout an hour ago? Liked to shook us out of our bunks.”
“I heard it,” Del said. “Sounded like a boiler or somethin’.”
“Ain’t no boilers in this backwater town. Me’n Ray are goin’ to see what’s up ’fore we go to work.”
“What you want, Del?” Ray hollered as he pulled his single cinch tight.
Del did not answer right away. He looked over at Slocum, who was staring skyward at the moon.
“Nothin’,” Del said.
“You off work?” came Ron Colter’s brusque voice.
Slocum still could not see the men, but he knew they were going to lead their horses out of the enclosure and mount up. That would even up the odds too much.
He did not have to wait.
“Somethin’ fishy goin’ on here, Colter,” Ray said. “Del, you better light down and walk over here where we can see you.”
“Who’s that with you?” Colter asked.
Slocum heard the creak of leather as a cinch tightened and the tongue slipped into its hole on the belt.
They were very close to the corral now and the cloud was drifting out into open sky.
Slocum and Del rode up to within a few feet of the corral.
“A—a friend,” Del said when he saw the two men.
“You ain’t got no friends, Del,” Ray said. “You there,” he said to Slocum, “who in hell are you?”
Slocum halted Ferro and turned him sideways to the corral. His hand sank to the butt of his pistol.
“The name’s Slocum,” he said in a deliberately loud voice.
“Slocum? Never heard of you,” Colter said.
“Damn it, Ron, that’s the name of the man with his picture on that dodger Oren gave us.”
Colter cursed and grabbed for his pistol.
Ray went into a crouch and reached down for his pistol.
The cloud in front of the moon drifted into the blackness beyond, blotting out a few million stars, and light shone down into the corral.
Del fired off his pistol as both Ray and Ron drew theirs.
His shot struck a post, gouging out splinters of wood.
Slocum drew his pistol so fast that his hand was a blur of shadow. The click of the hammer was deafening in that moment of silence after the sound of Del’s shot died away.
“Look out,” Colter yelled.
Slocum squeezed the trigger, aiming for Ray, who was climbing the fence with his pistol drawn.
The bullet smashed into Ray’s breastbone, splitting it as if struck by an axe. He flew backward off the rails and screamed on his way down.
Colter ducked behind a post and fired at Slocum. Del’s horse shied away from the corral and stepped sideways as Slocum fired a slug into the post near Colter’s head.
Colter stepped to one side to get a better shot after his first bullet whined off into space.
Slocum swung the barrel of his pistol to bear on the big man and he squeezed the trigger with a smooth flick of his finger.
The Colt in his hand belched fire and white smoke and the lead ball blew off half of Colter’s jaw. He screamed in pain and pulled the trigger of his pistol without aiming the weapon. The bullet dug a furrow just to the left of Ferro. Slocum fired again as Colter’s face spurted blood and broken teeth. The man choked and swung his pistol to close on Del.
Del swung his horse around and fired point-blank into Colter’s chest, ripping through a lung and a portion of Colter’s windpipe. He went down in a sprawling heap, his legs jerking like a chicken’s with its head lopped off. Del fired another shot for good measure, and the bullet kicked up dust on the back of the fallen man’s shirt. He twitched once more, let out a last groan, and then lay still, his vital organs shutting down.
“I got him, John,” Del yelped. “I killed that sumbitch.”
Slocum holstered his pistol.
“You sure did,” he said and let out a long breath.
“Damn. I never thought I’d be th
e one who brought Colter down.”
“Don’t let it swell your head, Del. Pride goeth before a fall.”
“Well, I got a right to be a little proud,” Del said.
“Maybe a tad,” Slocum said. “Let’s get those horses and lead them to the livery stable. Two more mounts can’t hurt.”
“I’ll open the gate,” Del said as he swung out of the saddle, excited as a schoolboy on the first day of summer recess.
Slocum pulled out a cheroot and lit it while Del wrangled the horses out of the corral.
“Should I get their gun belts?” Del asked
“No, we don’t need them. We’ve got their rifles.” Slocum pulled out his pistol, ejected the empty hulls, and reloaded before he slipped the Colt back in its holster. He pulled on the cigar and drew smoke into his lungs. He let out the smoke slow and grabbed the reins of one of the horses.
“I hated that Colter,” Del said as he mounted his horse. “He rode them Mexes like they were cattle, treated ’em like dogs.”
“Then maybe there is such a thing as justice in this old world,” Slocum said.
“You’re damned right,” Del said. He was still excited.
But as they rode back toward the stables, Slocum thought about justice. There was really none for the Mexicans, he knew. They were a cursed people even in the tolerant West. And they had a saying among themselves that he remembered very well. “No hay justicia en el mundo,” they said.
There is no justice in the world.
Even after you killed all the Colters in a cruel town like Polvo, there was no justice.
Not for the Mexicans and most everybody else who was dirt poor and ignorant of the ways of men and the snare of civilization.
Slocum knew it to be true.
He was an outlaw in name only, but it was enough to make him a hunted man wherever he roamed.
And, he knew, he would probably never return to Calhoun County, Georgia, where all his kin were buried.
26
Caleb Lindsey stood outside the stable, his hands high above his head, two Mexicans bracing him with rifles. His hair was mussed, his face contorted in fear.
Slocum rode up first and spoke to the two Mexicans.
“No molestas el gringito,” he said.
The Mexicans laughed and withdrew their rifles.
“What did you say to them, Mr. Slocum?” asked Caleb as he slowly lowered his hands. “And what’s so funny? They’re stealin’ all the horses and tack.”
“Steady, Caleb,” Slocum said. “I told them to leave the little gringo alone and they’re not stealing those horses.”
“I recognize them two you got there, too,” Caleb said, pointing at the two horses with Carlos and José. Those belong to Colter and Ray. And what about them in the livery?”
“The spoils of war, Caleb. I sent these men here to appropriate the horses in the stable, and we didn’t steal these two. Their owners have no further use of them.”
Caleb looked puzzled.
“They just give ’em up?” he said.
“Sort of, Caleb. The owners of these horses are dead.”
“Oh. Say, what’s goin’ on anyway?”
“Maybe something like a revolution,” Slocum said. “You go on home, Caleb, and tell your folks that if they want to leave town, they can pack up their belongings and skedaddle. Nobody’s going to bother them or stop them from leaving.”
“How come?”
“Because Scud isn’t going to be around much longer. Now get on home, Caleb.”
“Yes, sir. Oh boy, will my folks be happy to get out of this godforsaken hell.”
Slocum watched him run down the street and disappear in the darkness.
Men were leading saddled horses out of the stable. They all had strapped-on gun belts and there were rifles jutting from saddle scabbards.
“José,” Slocum said, “give up those two horses and tell your men to warn the town that now’s the time to pack up and leave. And pick ten more men who will ride with us to that Kiowa camp. We’ll probably be in for some fighting.”
“I will do this,” José said. He dismounted as men came up and took the two horses he and Carlos had brought.
Del rode up alongside Slocum.
“I got a funny feelin’ ’bout all this, John,” he said.
“About the horses?”
“No, about goin’ to that Injun camp. Callin’ out Scud and Oren.”
“If you don’t want to fight, just say so. But I need you to show me the camp. After you’ve done that, you can come on back to town.”
“Naw, I wouldn’t just up and leave you. I just got a feelin’ in my gut, that’s all.”
“That’s called fear,” Slocum said. “We all have it. I’m not looking forward to fighting a bunch of Indians and the Scudder boys.”
“But you ain’t scared,” Del said.
“Like hell I’m not, Del. Like the general said, ‘War is hell.’”
“General Sherman said that.”
“Yeah, and old Cumpy knew what he was talking about.”
José walked out of the livery and came up to Slocum.
“I could only get six men with good horses,” he said. “I am sorry.”
“That’s enough. Tell them to mount up and let’s go find Scud and that worthless brother of his.”
A few minutes later, Slocum, Del, and eight men rode in pairs out of Polvo, following an easterly course until they came to the town sign. Then Del turned his horse south.
“How far is it from here?” Slocum asked.
“To the Injun camp? ’Bout five mile, I’d say.”
“Just take it slow, Del, while I ride back and talk to my recruits. I want to hit them redskins just before dawn if we can.”
“I’ll walk my horse,” Del said.
Slocum let him ride on as he turned Ferro and looked over the men behind Carlos and José. He spoke to each one as they passed.
“You ready to fight?” he asked each one.
Each one nodded.
“You picked some good men, José,” Slocum said.
“I did not pick them,” he said. “They all wanted to come.”
“They look like good men.”
“They are. They will fight. They hate Scud and they hate the brother, Oren,” Carlos said.
Slocum rode ahead to join Del. He looked up at the sky. He didn’t know what time it was, but he saw that the Big Dipper had moved and the moon was on a downward arc. They could cover the five miles in about an hour at this pace, and by then he hoped there would be enough daylight to count heads in the camp, but enough dark to catch the Kiowa and the Scudders by surprise.
It was a long and slow five miles.
There was no road and few tracks that Slocum could see. But he noticed that they were now heading in an easterly direction again. He hoped Del knew where he was going. The land began to rise and change slightly. Here and there, Slocum could see little hillocks and even a few gullies and washouts from flash floods. He knew they were heading toward Palo Duro Canyon, but he was sure that the Kiowa camp would not be down in the canyon, though perhaps on high ground.
He held his tongue because he could see that Del was intent on what he was dong.
After what seemed an interminable length of time, Del slowed his horse then reined it to a full stop.
“See that little ridge yonder?” he said.
He pointed to the southeast.
“Yeah,” Slocum said. “Looks like water or an earthquake pushed up some land there.”
“Well, just beyond that long rocky dune is where that Kiowa camp is, near as I recollect. They’s a kind of a low-lying plateau just over that little ridge and they got teepees spread out on that flat place.”
“They must be close to water, too,” Slocum said.
“Yep. They’s a spring-fed crick runnin’ right past that little mesa and lots of trees. It’s like one of them A-rab things.”
“An oasis,” Slocum said, a trace of a smile curling his lips.
“Yeah, one of them.” Del rubbed his nose with a finger. “Damn, one of them trees is makin’ my nose itch.”
“Just don’t sneeze,” Slocum said.
He kept a close eye on the sky as they sat their horses. José rode up to talk to Slocum.
“We are close to the Indios, no?” he said.
“Very close. We will wait for the dawn a little while.”
“We are ready when you say it is time,” José said.
“Let’s ride a little closer,” Slocum said to Del. “I want to listen before we see the camp.”
“Sure. We can creep some closer,” Del said, and tapped his horse’s flanks with his roweled spurs. They moved several yards until Del held up his hand to halt the men behind him and Slocum. Then he reined up his horse and Slocum did the same.
Slocum cocked his head to listen. He still could not see the mesa, but he saw the tops of trees, a couple of live oaks brimming the dark horizon. He cupped a hand to his right ear and sat very still.
“Hear anything?” Del whispered.
“Nope. Not yet. Too far away maybe.”
“We get any closer, they could spot us,” Del said.
“This is fine, Del. We’ll watch that sky and those stars just above the eastern horizon.”
Del nodded without saying anything.
It was quiet except for the faint rustle of the horses, the creak of the saddles. Slocum could hear his Del’s breathing and the beating of his own heart. Nothing from the camp except a deep silence.
It seemed a long time before he noticed a slight paling in the eastern sky. The horizon went from black to slate, and the slate paled. Then the softest blue crept into the sky, wiping out the slate, and the first few stars began to wink out, one by one. The moon hovered above the land like a dying orb, its luster draining out of it gradually.
Slocum turned in the saddle and caught José’s eye. He held up a hand to signal that he should stay and then tapped his spurs into Ferro’s flank. The horse stepped forward. Del rode alongside.